Footballers, like all human beings, are profoundly fallible (just read Genesis if you don’t believe me). Showered by money and adulation, those at the top of the game are under immense pressure to succeed; and, in Paris on Wednesday, no player was under greater strain than France’s captain and the doyen of world football, Thierry Henry. Had France failed to qualify, he would have been second in line (after manager Raymond Domenech) for a very public coshing. Defeat would have sullied his reputation; blemishing a career burnished by myriad successes. Now it is tarnished in victory.
There is no doubt that the Irish are the victims of an injustice. Having already exceeded expectations by pushing Italy so hard for an automatic qualifying place, Trapattoni’s well-drilled side had much the better of things. Robbie Keane’s slick strike levelled the aggregate score, and the game had reached extra time when Henry broke down the right-hand channel of Ireland’s penalty area.
We all know what happened next, and the television pictures, which capture Henry guiding the ball with his hand in a manoeuvre that would have been more at home on the basketball arena, do him no favours. Sport has long had the atavistic potential to transform even the meekest and most courteous individuals into ruthless and, occasionally, dishonest competitors. Football is riddled with a medley of similar transgressions.
In the 2001 FA Cup final Henry himself was on the receiving end, when his Arsenal side fell victim to two blatant handballs (both preventing certain goals) by the Liverpool defender Stephane Henchoz. Like Henry, Henchoz escaped punishment, and Arsenal’s narrow lead was overturned by two late goals.
Twice-guilty, Henchoz was in many ways more culpable, but being (a) a defender; and (b) not especially high-profile, he escaped with his integrity relatively intact. Nor did the Arsenal players cry foul; choosing to bemoan (as the Irish could do) opportunities missed in a game they dominated. It is notable that Giovanni Trapattoni, the Irish manager and, as the prime architect of their success, the man that could feel most hard done by, is also prepared to live and let lie.
Calling for a replay is futile. There is no suitable international precedent, and the chances of FIFA agreeing to it are minimal. It would itself set an awkward precedent, and require the drafting of comprehensive legislation delineating the exact circumstances in which a replay is admissible. If this is done, then all well and good; but such a decision cannot be made hurriedly.
To that end, collective energy would be far better directed towards waking FIFA and UEFA from their conservative stupor, and pushing them to introduce a measure that will help to punish, and, hopefully, eradicate, cheating and injustice. What ‘Henrygate’ most demonstrates is the urgent need for some form of video technology. It has been introduced, with minimal disruption, at the top level in rugby and tennis, arguably saving time (by curtailing argument) rather than disrupting the flow of the game. Football needs a fifth man.
If there had been a FIFA official with ready access to video replay, than Henry’s brazen handball would never have gone unpunished. Though instinctive rather than premeditated, the act was nevertheless deliberate. Henry had approximately five seconds to own-up; not sufficient (as he put it) to make a ‘conscious’ decision. Instead, he did what most of us would have done: caught in a euphoric wave of relief, he gleefully embraced his colleagues. Only in the aftermath did he pause for thought; while his teammates rejoiced, he made his way towards the Richard Dunne, slumped in exhausted disappointment on the Paris turf.
Henry has already begun recuperating his image by admitting that a replay would be the fairest solution, a suggestion borne more of guilt (and the comforting knowledge that his wish was highly unlikely to be granted) than logic. He has apologised profusely, with the extenuating caveat that ‘I am not the referee.’ Although this will not placate the rage of the Irish players and supporters, nor stem the calls for a replay, it is very much to the point. Footballers have always cheated; the breathtaking pace at which the modern game is played, and the highness of the stakes, leaves scant time for moral scruples.
What Henry did was wrong, but to turn him into an international hate figure is as unfair as it is pointless. Clearly there are a lot of angry people out there with an abundance of spare time on their hands. Such hatred is only fuelled by the sanctimonious tone adopted by journalists and ex-players, who, in numerous articles and interviews, have expressed their horror and disbelief that any could stoop so low.
To say that this is all a terrible overreaction is an understatement. Henry may have cheated, but he did not deliberately injure an opponent, or commit an oversight that led to the death of dozens have fans. Some have even suggested a boycott of Gillette, for whom Henry stars in a prominent (and nauseating) advertising campaign. Just to get things in perspective, there is a similar boycott in place against Nestle, for the marginally more serious offense of breaking International codes in peddling powdered milk to malnourished African children. Boycott Gillette if you want, but not for this.
In part, the vehemence of the response reflects Henry’s standing in the game. He is a hugely respected figure, whose talent, charm and ebullience (both on the field and off) led many to hope that, faced with just such a moral dilemma, he would make the right choice. But a quick glance at the footballing annals show us that such acts of honesty are rare, and, when they occur, often stem from the unlikeliest of sources.
Who would have thought that Robbie Fowler, a ‘scallywag’ who once taunted Graeme Le-saux for his alleged homosexuality, would have pleaded with the referee to reverse an incorrect penalty awarded to his Liverpool team in a crucial game against Arsenal? Or that the unrepentant fascist (and erstwhile ref abuser) Paolo Di Canio would forsake a goal-scoring opportunity in order to direct attention towards the opposition keeper, sprawled in agony on the ground?
Morality and fair play do not always go hand in hand, and while incendiary headlines may garner hits and sell papers, as well as providing a cathartic outlet, they will do little to solve the problem in the long term. In the febrile atmosphere of modern sport, competitors will continue to transgress. The job of football’s governing body is to ensure that the gravest infractions do not go undetected. To that end, video technology cannot come soon enough. Then at least some good will have arisen from this squalid affair.